A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 863: The Crushing of Pace - Part 4

"OLIVER!" Lasha shouted, struggling as Judas dragged her back toward allied lines. Her eyes were wide, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Her emotions for once were obvious, her mask was broken. The girl foolishly blamed herself for not being able to stand with him.

Judas' expression was one of pain, as she clawed at him, drawing blood. The girl did not seem to realize that he was as distraught as she, and he, like Verdant, was merely functioning on the orders that he'd been given.

"Lord Idris!" Northman shouted, rushing to take position behind him. His men were still fending off those spearmen to the right – Verdant had managed to reduce the fronts that they had to fight on down to two, but that was still far too weak a position for his liking. "Do you have a plan?"

"SEND THE PATRICK MEN!" Verdant shouted back, his voice without a trace of its usual calm. "JUDAS, BLACKTHORN, FIRYR! CRUSH THE MEN TO OUR REAR! NORTHMAN – ALL YOU SKULLIC MEN, WE STAND OUR GROUND IN THE CENTRE."

It was as certain an order as one could give in such a desperate situation. Firyr roared his approval.

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"FINALLY!" He shouted back. "ON ME, MEN!" He had been the last of their groups through the tunnel, which left him even freer than the rest. Before even waiting for Judas' and his men to gather with him, he was racing towards that sturdy embankment of lone spearmen.

"Lady Blackthorn…" Judas said, hesitantly releasing her. "We've got orders. You mustn't look back – you've got to trust in the Commanders to tell us the right way forward. We've not got the time to worry for Oliver now. We stick to the plan – his plan."

Only Verdant's order had managed to get Lasha to stop struggling, and when she had, Judas had dared to release her. She took in his words with all the reaction of a tear-stained doll. She stared at him blankly. For the blood, her tears and her beauty, she was a frightening sight indeed. Judas had no inclining that she was in agreement.

He was just as sure that she would do something outlandish as he was that she'd follow. When a nod of agreement finally came from her, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"Come on, then," Judas said, a touch of fire in his voice, trying to wind his way back up with anger. Trying to recapture that morale that they came with. "COME ON THEN, MEN! WE'RE CRUSHING THESE REMNANTS!"

His men were on the other side of Verdant's central resistance, the furthest away from the tunnel. They had to cross a battlefield to reach Judas, but with how loud the man's booming voice got, there was no chance of them missing his order. They raised their weapons, and began to rush towards where Firyr was already battering through the spearmen.

He'd already dug a hole straight through their side, and was tearing them apart with a speed that seemed to exceed what he'd been able to demonstrate in training. He looked strong enough to take on the whole fifty-man strong wall with just his twenty-five. Cormrant said as much, as he brought his men to reinforce the centre.

"I can't help but think we could have left our rear in his capable hands – we've need of the likes of Blackthorn and Judas," the man muttered.

"We've need of speed, and we've need of unity," Verdant said back, in the brief interlude in their fighting – the Macalister men coming down from the wall were just beginning to form up, and the cavalry were just beginning to turn around. "We can't afford to have anything at our back when these men come."

When they came, those men that had rode with the enemy General, right at the front, the trouble would be serious, Verdant was sure of it. He'd barely caught a whiff of their auras as they rode past, but even those men under the Macalister General – those front-riding three – were stronger than any single man that they had, excluding Oliver.

Verdant glanced over his shoulder, feeling his palms sweat. The enemy was moving quicker than he would have liked. Firyr was fighting like a wild dog, and causing damage at a rapid rate, as were the men under him, but even then, it wasn't enough for Verdant. He wanted to see his ranks fully reformed before the enemy hit.

"Jorah! Where are you?" Verdant shouted, looking around. They would have need of that group of four, he knew. They were one of the few that they had who could stand up against the likes of those Second Boundary men.

"Here, Lord Idris," Jorah said, his expression pale.

"And Nila?" Verdant asked. He could already see Karesh and Kaya.

"Here," Nila said, her voice weak. She did not look good – she looked even worse than Blackthorn had – but at least she was there. Verdant took solace from that.

"You are not broken, girl," Verdant said. It was not a question. It was a statement of fact. Nila was likely closer to Oliver than anyone on that whole battlefield. Of everyone, he would have expected it to be her that would be brought to her knees, seeing him crushed so thoroughly. Verdant had needed an order to keep his own mind strong – what did Nila cling to?

Nila shook her head. "We have not lost. He isn't dead. I have seen him survive worse than that."

Her words brought a stir amongst those officers in the centre. Worse than that? They had to wonder, what could possibly be worse than that? At the very best, Oliver's ribs ought to have been crushed – and then there was that fountain of blood. Even if he lived, it seemed unlikely that he would be standing up any time soon, much less fighting ever again.

"How are you so certain?" Verdant asked – because there was indeed that strength of certainty in her voice. It was as hard and as reliable as the very ground that they walked on.

"Because I know it," she declared, her eyes dangerous. Verdant flinched at the intensity, drawing back from it slightly. It wasn't the answer that he was hoping for, yet he had no choice but to accept it.